Gin Is The Answer
by Most Loyal Bellaminion
Summary: The absurd sequel to the crossover parody "But I Said I Wanted A Sandwich." While Voldemort is happy to be able to dance again AVPM , Bella is exhausted and it's making killing people boring. Mr. T completely rejects Nellie when she tells him her plans of getting married and having private sexytimes by the Beautiful Freaking Sea. The answer is to get drunk. T for Language.
1. To Dance Again

**EDIT: I re-wrote the majority of it. Now it's longer and more elaborate.  
**

Bella was feeling depressed.  
Her so called Lord was being a downright arse lately, and it was messing with her.  
She couldn't get into a proper frenzy of bloodlust with him keeping her awake every hour of the night. He was so loud. He never stopped, every single night. Each morning she was exhausted and hoarse from the screaming.  
Dear reader, I now instruct you to take your mind and politely remove it from the gutter.

It was that God Damn tap dancing. He was incessant, and no matter how much she screamed at him to shut up, he would just continue. Voldemort jete'd and piqued, chinne'd and sashayed. Every DAMN night. He wasn't even good at it, the steps had no order or rhythm. He was just so fucking excited to have a body and be able to dance again, while Bellatrix groped around her bedside table for her wand so she could try yet another silencing charm. Nothing seemed to be working, she had already tried 3. She was faithful to him, and she would even go as far as to say she loved him, but this was ridiculous.  
She would spend time in Azkaban for doing his bidding and wait for him.  
She would go out to get him lunch.  
But she wouldn't stand for this any longer.  
Of course, she also wouldn't say anything to him. That would be suicide. For all she knew he was on his period, he could do anything. It was entirely possible that he would have a diva tantrum and kill her (very dramatically) on the spot.

She had tried all the things that normally cheered her up, like raiding a house of Mudbloods and torturing some muggles, but she was so tired and upset that they just didn't give her the pleasant rush of adrenaline they should have.  
Bella had found some brief enjoyment on a muggle contraption called a computer. It seemed to be a book of infinite knowledge. I had plenty of moving pictures, and would even talk to you on command.  
It was brief, however, because her one month trial to a red page had run out and she could no longer watch the colorful horses with tattoos on their rears. That was probably part of what was getting her down, the animals' antics were quite amusing.  
All in all, the past few weeks had been bloody awful. Absolute shit.

She needed to get drunk.


	2. By The Beautiful Freaking Sea

Nellie Lovett was enjoying playing house, with Mr. T as her husband and dear, stupid little Toby as her son.  
However, Mr. T was getting rather tired of her feeding him the make believe food she was constantly cooking. He also didn't fit very well in the treehouse. Slowly and painfully while sustaining many splinters, he climbed down from the tree.  
With Mr. T gone, Nellie sighed. Tobias was sitting cluelessly in the corner of the small wooden room.  
"Toby?"  
"Yes ma'am?"  
"What the hell kind of a name is Tobias?"

Most people would look hurt or seem offended by such a question, but Nellie had learned in the past few days that he was a bit slow. He simply shrugged. She sighed once more.  
Her earlier attempts at seducing her sexy skunk haired man had failed. She had simply suggested that they get a house by the seaside and "sleep" in the same bed. Nothing wrong with that, she said. Just the two of them by the beautiful sea and some seagulls to drown out the noise.  
"What noise?" Mr. T had asked with concern.  
"Oh, nothing. It will be legitimate by the seaside. We'll be married by then... And by that beautiful sea..." She said with a seductive (or so she thought!) wink.  
It is now, dear reader, that I invite you to place your mind gently down in that dirty, disgusting gutter. You thought correctly, although Mr. T was having trouble understanding the gestures.  
To the barber, it looked like she was having some sort of twitching fit. He grimaced.  
And that's why he had left the small treehouse. True, this thing called the sun wasn't very pleasant (it rarely showed up on Fleet Street), but it was better than being with that woman.  
She was beginning to act like that crazy woman who liked to hang about Judge Turpin's house...  
What was her name?  
Oh, that's right. Johanna.

In the past 15 minutes she had been exactly like her, failing horribly at singing about her fantasies and shrieking ridiculously high notes while staring at a man. The two were exactly alike.

Mrs. Lovett was watching him sitting on the picnic blanket by himself, brooding away like he always did. She sighed. Toby stared at her. The only thing he had actually noticed was that she was sighing a lot. He silently wondered if she was having trouble breathing...

Now the dull boy was making odd faces. He was definitely slow. Of course, out of all the orphaned boys in London, Mr. T had to make it so that this one fell into her care. She sighed again.

She needed to get drunk.


End file.
